She was a misfit, he was a git.
Matilda Diggory enters her fifth year of school, ready to remain as under the radar as possible, only there's a catch. She's somehow managed to catch the eye of a particularly annoying redhead, who seems hell-bent on...
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Matilda sat at the Gryffindor table, her body aching in places she couldn't name. The full moon had passed, but its remnants clung to her like cobwebs—ghost pains in her joints, the strange clarity that always came after the storm. She'd spent the whole of yesterday in bed, too drained to even pretend to function. She hadn't seen the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. In truth, she hadn't wanted to.
Now, the Great Hall buzzed with excitement, the energy a stark contrast to the bone-deep fatigue she carried. Talk of the Triwizard Tournament swirled around her like mist. She let it wash over her. Let it distract her.
Fred and George were at it again—plotting, laughing, muttering to Lee about slipping past Dumbledore's enchantments. Fred's voice cut through everything else, as it always did. It wasn't fair. That even in her exhaustion, even with her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, he could still anchor her attention with just the sound of his voice.
Matilda stirred her porridge, not really tasting it, not really hungry. She stole a glance at Fred. He hadn't noticed her looking. He rarely did anymore. Not like before.
He was grinning at something Lee said, shaking his head and tossing his toast onto George's plate. And for a moment, she let herself ache for the version of him who used to save her the corner slice of toast because he knew she liked it best. The one who used to nudge her knee under the table when no one was looking. The one who used to look back.
She tore her gaze away.
As Matilda took a sip of her pumpkin juice, she noticed a figure approaching the Gryffindor table. A tall, graceful girl with long brown hair and striking hazel eyes walked towards her. She wore the distinctive light blue uniform of Beauxbatons, her presence immediately drawing attention from the nearby students.
Matilda's brow furrowed as she tried to place her. Before she could think too hard, the girl smiled brightly.
"Matilda?" the girl asked in a melodic voice, switching effortlessly to French. "C'est bien toi?"
Matilda blinked, momentarily surprised, before her lips parted in recognition. "Isabelle?" she responded, also in French, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
Isabelle grinned and embraced Matilda, who was still processing the shock of seeing her cousin after so long. "Ça fait si longtemps ! Je ne savais pas que tu étais ici." Isabelle exclaimed, pulling back slightly to look at her.
"Moi non plus," Matilda admitted, shaking her head with a small smile. "Je n'ai même pas su que tu venais. Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?"
They continued speaking rapidly in French, exchanging excited words about Isabelle's arrival at Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament. Matilda's friends, meanwhile, were staring with wide eyes, utterly stunned by what they were witnessing. Fred, who had been reaching for some toast, froze mid-action, his jaw slack. George leaned forward, his eyes flicking between the two girls as if he couldn't believe what was happening.
